


The Demon's Dilemma

by Arvari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Is the Sweetest Bastard Ever, But Then Feelings Happened, Crowley Is an Ineffable Drama Queen, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), I Don't Even Know, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, comedy with feelings, started off as a funny little thing, the characters do what they want basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvari/pseuds/Arvari
Summary: Face to face with Aziraphale's disapproval, Crowley has to make a tough choice. Either he will stop his unacceptable behavior, or he might never see the angel again.(In other words - Aziraphale doesn't like the way Crowley treats his plants and is hell bent on showing him a better way to take care of them.)(Also, the plants totally ship the Ineffable Idiots. I mean... Who doesn't, right?)





	The Demon's Dilemma

Crowley knew that something wasn’t right the moment he opened the door to his flat. It wasn’t the fact that it was unlocked. He never bothered to lock it in the first place. No one would ever try to rob him – and if they did, well, Crowley wouldn’t be the one to suffer the consequences, right?

No, the problem was the… the overwhelming feeling of _love_ he felt in the air. Contrary to Aziraphale’s belief, Crowley _was _able to feel it. Sometimes. He was able to feel _Aziraphale’s_ love, at least. That was how he knew the angel was in his flat, doing things he definitely _shouldn’t_ be doing.

Crowley closed the door behind himself silently and sneaked his way through his own flat. He didn’t want the angel to hear him. Not before he was sure what was going on.

(He _was _sure, but he needed to catch the angel red-handed. Or green-handed. Whatever.)

Then he finally heard Aziraphale’s voice. He didn’t bother wondering _why_ the angel was in his flat in the first place. After the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, Aziraphale had started to come to Crowley’s place whenever he pleased. Crowley didn’t complain. It was _nice_ to have his angel around. But he never suspected the angel might betray him like this.

“Oh, look at you, you beauty,” he heard Aziraphale say. “So gorgeous. Would you like more water?”

_More_ water?! Crowley gritted his teeth. _Seriously?_ It was even worse than he’d thought!

“You like it, don’t you?” Aziraphale’s voice continued. “And you? You are lovely, all of you. Oh, my darling, is that a spot? No, no, don’t be scared. We’ll sort it out in a second...”

And that was all that Crowley needed to hear.

He pushed open the only door that separated him from Aziraphale (and the plants the angel was currently spoiling rotten). He tried to look scary and dangerous, but he had a feeling he was failing spectacularly.

“Hello, angel,” he growled, because that was probably the only thing he could do to keep at least a little bit of respect. “Care to explain what in S...omebody’s name are you doing with my plants?”

No matter how edgy Crowley wanted to look, the angel still positively _beamed_ when he saw him. Crowley fought really hard not to smile back at him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry. I thought you would be at home, but you weren’t, and then I saw these poor darlings and I thought I’d take care of them for you… They were incredibly thirsty, did you know? You really should water them more often, Crowley, I mean-”

“Yeah, well, thanks for your opinion, Aziraphale,” Crowley growled (once again, still hell-bent on keeping his cool facade). “But they’re thirsty for a _reason_, you see? Limited water rations make them appreciate the water they _do_ get, and that in turn makes them grow _better_. Is that right, guys?” he said, addressing his plants.

They started to shake immediately.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice full of disapproval. “Are you making them scared of you _on purpose_?”

“Maybe?” Crowley shrugged, taking a plant mister from Aziraphale’s surprised hand. “So what? It works.”

“Of course that it does. But kindness and water would work even better.”

“Sorry, angel, but I disagree,” Crowley growled and glowered at the smallest plant in the room, the one that was pretty new and still didn’t understand all the rules properly. “They _must_ know that when they don’t behave _like good plants should_, they’ll end up in the garbage disposal.”

“Garbage disposal?” Aziraphale smirked. He had the audacity to sound amused. “My dear boy. You’ve been bringing _the plants that don’t behave like good plants should_ to me for _years_.”

Crowley was very thankful for his sunglasses. That way the plants (and the angel) couldn’t see that his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“And you’re killing them off. He’s killing them off, you hear me?” he said, addressing the plants, but their trembling was already starting to lessen. “He kills them even _more_ brutally than the garbage disposal ever could!”

It didn’t look like the plants believed him.

Especially when Aziraphale gave him a mischievous smile, the bastard.

“Oh, no, my dear. I’m giving them to the lovely old lady next door. She is very kind to them. Waters them whenever they want to. Tells them how beautiful they are. She has a special room dedicated to the plants, would you believe that?”

The plants had stopped shaking completely and now just stood there, listening to the conversation. It wasn’t as if they could just get up and leave.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, taking off his sunglasses. “You’re gonna pay for thisss.”

The angel, completely undisturbed by Crowley’s snake eyes, raised his hand and gently stroked a leaf of the small plant Crowley really should have got rid of weeks ago.

“For what, my dear?”

He had the audacity to look almost innocent. _Almost_.

“You...” Crowley said, his voice quiet and menacing. “You come to _my_ houssse. You ssspoil my poor plantsss rotten. And then you tell them my biggessst sssecret?!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Crowley,” the angel smirked (_smirked!_). “I just wanted to help, because your _poor plants_ looked miserable. I had no idea they are _supposed_ to be that way.”

“And why did you think I was bringing you the onesss that didn’t grow properly or… or weren’t green enough, or...”

“To… help them get better?” Aziraphale said, starting to look a little broken-hearted. “I honestly had no idea that it’s your way of _threatening_ the ones you _didn’t_ bring.”

“That’s jussst _lovely_, angel.”

“But now that I know,” Aziraphale muttered, straightening his back, “I shall not endorse it.”

“Meaning?” Crowley asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“That until you stop being so _horrible_ to them, I shall not visit your flat. And it would probably be for the best if you didn’t come to my bookshop, either.”

“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t.”

“What is it that humans say these days? _Watch me_, my dear.”

With that, the angel turned on his heel and left.

Crowley let him. He was sure the angel would come back. It might take a week. Maybe two. But he would come back.

Except that he didn’t.

Not a week later, not two weeks later, not a _month_ later.

And Crowley, who’d got used to having the angel around almost every day, had to admit he was starting to go mad. Countless times, he wanted to call Aziraphale, invite him for a lunch or just tell him about his new evil _demonic deed _he thought of, so the angel could find a way to thwart him. (To be completely honest, he’d had about two new evil ideas during the whole month – not very good. More like terrible. He was lucky Hell wasn’t keeping an eye on him any more. He would be in big trouble if it did.)

Mostly, he just wanted to _talk_ to Aziraphale.

Precisely thirty-five days (right, it was thirty-four days, sixteen hours and fifty-eight minutes, but he absolutely didn’t count every single one of them, nope) after Aziraphale left, Crowley found himself drunk nearly to oblivion on the floor by his plants, sniffling quietly.

The plants didn’t take Aziraphale’s absence any better than their master. During the past month, they kept withering, slowly but constantly, despite all of Crowley’s attempts to stop them from doing so. He’d tried everything – threats, withholding water completely, threats, regular watering, threats, all kinds of fertilizers, more threats… Nothing worked. It was almost as if the plants reflected his own mood. They looked exceptionally terrible today.

Crowley drunkenly kicked aside an empty whisky bottle and growled at the one miserable little plant that looked like it was almost beyond saving.

“Ssso what dyouwanmetodo?” he hissed. “I’m trying, you know. I’m doing my bessst!”

There was no reaction whatsoever.

“Ssss not like I’m the worst, is it? You could do much worse. You could be _his_ plants. Trust me, he’s not like he seems. I’ve witnessed him nearly murder a whole _garden_ full of flowers. A _garden_. Yeah, he’s kind and sweet and he means good and he’ll tell you how much he loves you, but he knows nothing about… about...”

_Nitrogen levels in soil,_ he wanted to say. _Fertilizers. Proper watering techniques._

Instead, he just sniffled again and gazed at the poor, probably dying plant.

“You miss him too, don’t you?” he asked. “Do you miss him like I do? No, you don’t, you _can’t_.”

Shockingly, the plants didn’t reply. Crowley licked his lips and sighed.

“You wanmeto go to him?” he muttered. “Say I’m sssorry? Will you get better if I do? Will you be okay again?”

The plants straightened their leaves a little.

“Not fair, guys. Not fair,” Crowley smirked. “I’m a demon, for… I’m a _demon_. I don’t say I’m sssorry!”

Again, no reply, but Crowley had a strange feeling that the plants weren’t really buying it.

It didn’t matter. He’d already made up his mind.

“Fine. _Fine_. You win. But remember, it’s because of you, not because _I _can’t live without him!”

No, they definitely weren’t buying it.

“Right. Right,” he sighed. “But I think I’m gonna have to… sober up first…”

Eighteen minutes later, Crowley walked into Aziraphale’s bookshop. He desperately tried to look cool and collected to hide the fact that he was very nearly trembling with nervousness.

“Aziraphale?” he called. “Angel, are you in here?”

An old lady who was currently inspecting a book glared at him.

Right. Customers. Well, he’d better try and drive her away.

“_Angel_,” he said again. “Sweetheart, where are you?”

The lady returned the book to its shelf, glaring even harder.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Crowley said with way more politeness than the old hag deserved. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my partner? As in _boyfriend_. He’s the owner here and...”

The woman didn’t even let him finish before she stormed off with only a small “tsk!”.

The moment the door closed behind her (with a very loud and meaningful _slam_), Aziraphale emerged from behind a bookshelf.

“Crowley,” he said.

“Was that the only one or is there more of them?” the demon asked.

“The only one, fortunately,” the angel replied. “Thank you for that, my dear, by the way. The way she looked at the book… As if she wanted to buy it only to burn it. Poor Oscar. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Crowley watched the angel run his finger across the spine of the book the woman was looking at.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re… welcome, angel. Even though you wouldn’t have sold it to her anyway.”

“Of course not. But it’s nice to see you coming to my rescue once again, so I wouldn’t have to be… unpleasant,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Right. No problem. As always.”

Crowley took a deep breath, biting his lower lip, as he gathered his courage to start talking. Really talking, about what he came to talk about. But he couldn’t. He could just stare at the angel.

It took Aziraphale quite a few seconds to realize that the conversation simply wouldn’t move anywhere if he didn’t make the first step – so he made it.

“How… how are the plants, my dear?”

Now, Aziraphale expected several different answers to this question, ranging from “_all dead, gotta buy some new ones to torture_” to “_better than ever, thanks to me doing what you wanted me to_”. What he definitely _didn’t_ expect was Crowley to hug him like a boa constrictor and start sobbing into his ancient coat.

“Crowley?” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Missed you,” Crowley murmured, holding the angel even tighter.

“You or the plants, my dear boy?”

“Both,” Crowley clarified. “Can’t imagine. Dying without you.”

Aziraphale was tempted to ask “_you or the plants?_” again, but decided against it.

“Crowley,” he said instead. “Are you drunk?”

“Not as much as I was,” came the reply, murmured into the coat so thoroughly that it was hardly intelligible. “Please, angel, I’m sorry, so sorry, just stop being mad at me, I can’t survive you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Aziraphale sighed, wrapping his arms around the demon as much as the situation allowed him. It wasn’t much, but he still felt the demon practically melt against him. “Now, my dear, you should let go a little, if you don’t want to discorporate me. And I sure hope you don’t, because I can’t _possibly_ imagine explaining to Gabriel that I was crushed to death by an overly affectionate serpent.”

“I’d love to see his face if you told him that,” Crowley said, releasing the angel from his deadly grip. He made to take a step back, but Aziraphale’s arm around his waist stopped him. Crowley frowned. “Angel?”

“I said let go a _little_,” Aziraphale smiled. “Do you know you look absolutely dreadful?”

“I guess. Was a rough month.”

Aziraphale raised his hand and grabbed the rims of Crowley’s sunglasses, but didn’t take them off immediately – he waited for Crowley’s nearly invisible nod before doing it. The demon’s eyes were full of despair, but also hope – and love. A truly incredible amount of love. It made Aziraphale’s heart flutter.

“I’ll tell you what,” he smiled. “I will close the shop and we will get you back home, order a nice meal, have a glass of wine and take care of your lovely plants, what do you say?”

“You hate takeaway.”

“I’ll survive. I hope. That would be even more awkward to explain. _Killed by horrible takeaway_. Gabriel’s head would probably explode.”

“And it’s not even noon yet.”

“Oh, the shop’s been open for almost an hour now. I think that’s more than enough for one day, don’t you?”

Crowley grinned at that. “Oh, definitely, angel. Let’s go?”

“Just wait a second. I almost forgot I have a little something for you.”

When the couple got to Crowley’s flat, the plants that had been slowly dying an hour ago turned out to be as green and vibrant as ever. And the most vibrant of all was the little one, the one that clearly _did_ understand the rules perfectly, but it just didn’t care. The obvious leader of the revolution.

“I hate you guys,” the demon growled while Aziraphale cooed at every single one of them, telling them how beautiful they looked today. “I really hate you all.”

“What was it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nothing, angel. I was just about to introduce him to their new friend.”

_(The friend being a brand new tiny potted plant – Aziraphale’s _little something_ for Crowley._

“_I expect you to treat it the same way you treat all the others, remember it, Crowley. Exactly. The. Same,” Aziraphale had said._

“_Angel,” Crowley had replied. “You know I could never...”_

“_Yes. I know. Means you are going to have to treat the others better, doesn’t it?”_

“_Are you absolutely sure you’re not really a demon? Because this is something a demon would do.”_

“_Not a demon. Just _enough of a bastard to be worth knowing._”_

“_Loving.”_

“_No, I clearly remember you said _knowing_.”_

“_Said, yes. But I meant...”_

“_I know, Crowley. I know.”)_

“Oh. Right. I’ll leave you to it, then. I think you need time to explain the new rules, am I correct?”

“I guess,” Crowley sighed, resigned.

“Good demon,” Aziraphale said, brushing his fingers against Crowley’s as he passed him. “What would you say to some sushi, by the way?”

“Sushi would be great. I’ll be with you in a minute?”

“As long as you need, my love.”

A tremble ran through all the plants in the room – but they weren’t terrified, no. More like very, very excited.

The angel laughed and left. Crowley turned to the plants. He _tried_ to look sinister, but the smile tugging at his lips was completely ruining it all.

“Now you listen to me, you traitorous, spoiled, backstabbing-”

“Crowley!”

Right. The angel could still hear him. Crowley sighed.

“You are beautiful and I love you all?” he tried.

“Much better, my dear. Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Crowley felt a shiver run down his spine. Right. Maybe this _praise_ thing wasn’t really that bad…

A few hours later, a demon was lying on the brand new comfortable couch he’d miracled up, slowly dozing off, and a smiling angel was running his fingers through the demon’s red hair.

The demon was trying to convince himself that he would reinstate his reign of terror over the plants first thing in the morning. Or maybe in a week or so. He just had to wait for the angel to forget about the stupid new rules, and then he would be able to do anything he wanted and…

“Just look at yourself,” the angel murmured. “Six thousands years, and I still cannot believe how beautiful you are, Crowley.”

The demon opened his yellow eyes and smiled.

All right, all right. Maybe, just _maybe_, the plants didn’t have to be the most terrified in order to be the most luxurious, verdant and beautiful in London. Maybe just a little scared would do.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your eyes?” the angel asked. “Loved them since the garden, really.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, angel.”

The angel smiled and scratched the demon’s scalp. And the sound the demon made definitely _wasn’t_ a moan.

“The question is – is it working?”

“Oh, yesss,” the demon hissed. “Don’t you dare ssstop.”

Maybe, just _maybe_, he was going to let the angel shamelessly manipulate him like this. For a while. A few months. A year, at most.

“I was thinking, my dear… I could spend the night. If you wanted.”

And just then, the demon knew he was going to be shamelessly manipulated for _centuries_. And the worst part was… he didn’t mind at all.


End file.
